The Ballad of Jethro Marshall
by HayleyxJerry
Summary: Jethro Marshall is just a regular 11 year old boy going to Hogwarts. Or is he? Plagued by a corrupted sense of honor, lack of ambition, and a desire to do no good, he sets off on his very own Hogwarts adventure.


Dedicated to the memory of Chris Marshall, 1988-2008. R.I.P.

* * *

Jethro Marshall sat absorbed in his spells textbook for his first year at Hogwarts. He had always known he was a wizard, but he had never truly thought about going to Hogwarts. Books were strewn about his room, filled with pictures of Hogwarts and his mother had often recounted her fond memories of Hogwarts. Stories had been told to him about her classmates, including the antics of a group of loud Gryffindor boys a few years below her. Jethro smiled vaguely, hoping he would be able to enjoy similar memories, too.

His house was a large house on the outskirts of small town in England called Cinderford. His father owned a chemical business. In the grand scale, Jethro's family was not a poor family. His ancestors had worked in the coal mines in the 19th century, bringing sudden fortune onto the family. This allowed Jethro the easy means to acquire all of his school supplies and at the highest quality.

He remembered going to Diagon Alley only a few weeks before. It was in mid July.

Having just gotten his robes at Madame Milkins s, Jethro next visited Ollivander's to get his wand. Jethro saw a dark haired boy who looked around his age leaving the shop, and he gave him a curt nod. A very large man attracted Jethro's attention causing him to stare, but he meekly looked away and walked in Ollivander's when the giant man cleared his throat.

"Hello Mr. Marshall," Ollivander said, not looking up from the parchment on which he was wildly scribbling. "One moment."

"Okay," Jethro meekly replied. He was alone in Diagon Alley, having ridden the Knight Bus over from his home. At home, his mother insisted she accompany him, but he told her he would be fine at Diagon Alley. After all, it was a pretty safe place.

Jethro waited patiently, looking around the shop. Small boxes of assorted colors dominated most of the wall space. Rows upon rows of tiny boxes holding different wands stretched as far as Jethro could see. With slight amusement, Jethro noticed that quite a few wands lay strewn around the ground, as though dropped hastily. Bending over, he picked one up.

His hand grew hot and he yelped moderately in pain, dropping the wand to the ground.

"Unicorn tail," Ollivander said, looking up. Suddenly, he shot out of his desk and briskly walked over to the wand shelf. He grabbed a few blue boxes from the middle of a dusty shelf.

"Try these," he said, thrusting them at Jethro. Bemusedly, Jethro pulled one wand after another from each box. Most of them were very dark green with a slight blue tinge. One wand Jethro picked up shot blue sparks and a slight green cloud.

"Excellent!" Ollivander exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Thirteen and one half inches, fir, with a dragon heartstring core. From a Swedish Short-snout. A swishy, very light wand." Ollivander rang up the order. "Good for charms, very good for charms," he added as an afterthought.

Jethro thanked the man and paid for his wand, tucking it into the deep pocket in the front of his robe. He left Ollivander to clean up the wand mess, presumably made by the dark haired wizard Jethro had seen leaving Ollivander's shop earlier.

Jethro looked at his paper from Hogwarts again. He had his feather-light trunk, cauldron, robes, and books. On top of picking up his regular first year books, Jethro had also picked up the spellbook for second year students. He knew that he could probably divulge the contents of the entire first year book in the matter of a few months and would quickly grow bored with his spell classes.

His next stop was the Apothecary. After picking out his standard ingredients, a large black egg caught his attention. It was behind a red jar labeled "Thestral Blood - Handle with Extreme Care". Curious to hold the egg in his hands, Jethro tried to grab it, but he was too short. The proprietor of the shop was busy with other customers, so Jethro got on his toes and was just barely able to reach the egg on the high shelf.

He had thought that he almost had it when his foot slipped and he grabbed the shelf for purchase, knocking the thestral blood onto the floor. The jar smashed open, sending the thick red blood all over the floor and into a bin full of gillyweed. Black smoke began billowing out of the gillyweed, scaring Jethro and horrifying the shop keeper. Choking, Jethro sank to the ground like he was taught in primary school and slowly crawled to the door of the shop.

Once outside, he brushed off his robes and continued walking as if nothing had happened, ignoring the screaming and frantic spell casting that was occurring behind him. He was also very aware that he had not paid for his potion ingredients.

"Still haven't gotten a familiar," he said to himself, completely unfazed by his recent debacle. Jethro ambled his way over to Magical Menagerie, the overcrowded and smelly pet shop. Opening the door, he involuntarily scrunched his nose at the putrid air that threatened to choke him.

"Ah, young man," a witch in thick black spectacles said, "What can I do for you?"

"Well," Jethro started, trying not to gag, "I need a familiar." He looked around. "But not a boring one like a toad, or a rat, or a bird. Something more exotic."

The witch smiled. "How about a parrot? It can copy phrases! And magical parrots never forget." She showed him to a cage where a large multicolored parrot sat on a perch. It rotated its head and looked right at Jethro.

"Filthy mudbloods," it said, taking Jethro by surprise, "Always stinking up my house with their dirty robes and disgusting habits. Why, if I even see one more bloody-"

The bird was cut off as the witch pulled a large drape over the cage. Jethro could still make out what the bird was saying, and it made him giggle. With a harsh look at the cage, the witch turned to Jethro and apologized for the bird's unruly behavior.

"He's usually not like this. He's had a few bad owners." The witch put a hand to her forehead. Jethro pulled a little at his collar, the claustrophobic interior of the shop combined with the smell and noise starting to get to him.

"How about a bat?" The witch pushed him over to a cage full of the black flying mammals.

"They're not doing anything." Jethro pointed at the inverted bats sleeping in the cage.

"Well, they're asleep," the witch retorted. At this Jethro grabbed the bars of the cage.

"WAKE UP YOU RUDDY BATS!" Shrieking, the bats began madly flapping about the cage, causing it to shake violently and forcing Jethro to let go of the bars in shock. He fell flat on his butt.

Another drape was thrown over this cage, the witch beginning to look a little exasperated.

"No, they wouldn't do anyway," she muttered, "Not good at carrying letters because of a certain bad habit they have while flying. Anyway " she cleared her throat, " you might be interested in a slightly more active specimen we have."

Pushing Jethro to yet another draped cage, she forcefully threw the drape off.

"Ta-da!" she exclaimed, with a purely evil grin on her face. Jethro appraised the cage, which appeared empty.

"Uh," he said, pointing, "it's empty." When he said this, a giant chameleon began to appear right in front of him. He jumped, the sudden appearance of the animal causing him mild surprise. A few feet in length and sporting a green coat with odd black dots, it looked Jethro right in the face and seemed to grin at him before molding back into the drab grey colors of the cage.

"It's a magical chameleon, raised in France. We just got it a couple weeks ago, but the price is horrendously high. Very exotic animal. His name," she waved at the empty space where the chameleon was, "is Étienne."

"Huh," Jethro said, looking in the cage. After inquiring as to the price and deciding it wasn't too exorbitant, he paid the witch a rather large sum of gold and departed with a lot less gold but one magical chameleon.

"Probably gonna have to keep my eye on you, Étienne, but I think we'll get along just great," Jethro said, talking to what appeared to be an empty cage.

Now, in the middle of August, Jethro had a sinking feeling that he would finish the second year spellbook far before the end of his first school year. He'd never really used magic in a practical sense, however, and thought this might impede him. Sighing, he closed his book and slid it under his pillow when he heard his mother calling him for dinner.

"Were you reading those school books again, dear?" his mother asked.

"Yes mum," Jethro replied, sitting down to roast pork and mashed potatoes.

"Well, it would do good to get your nose out of a book and into the real world sometime. I remember when I was in school and we shared Herbology with those stuck up Ravenclaws. They knew all the theory but just couldn't do the practicals." Her face tightened. "But I know you'll do better than them, deary." Her face softened at this. "Now eat your dinner, Jethro."

"Yes mum," Jethro said. Dinner was boring, as usual. After dinner, Jethro was about to go upstairs when his father called him.

"Jethro, my boy, come into my study," he said, putting a large hand on Jethro's shoulder and steering his son into the bright and cheery study. A small fire burned a light ochre, casting a warm glow over the study. Books of every sort filled several bookcases, covering most of the walls. A large poster of the world was tacked up on what little bare wall was available. Several red thumbtacks were stuck in it. A few were in Albania and various other parts of Europe, but the majority were stuck in the middle, where a blown up picture of the British Isles was dominant. Several clouds flitted over the Isles, proving the map to be magical in nature.

David Marshall sat in a large red leather chair facing the fire and beckoned for Jethro to sit in its twin next to him.

"Are all your bags packed, son?" he asked, pulling a cigar from a dehumidifier box. He chopped an end off with a cigar guillotine, struck a match, and lit it.

Jethro looked at the cigar eagerly. "Yeah dad. Mum made sure I packed everything." He scrunched his face up. "She even made me pack extra underpants!"

Laughing a little at this, David began to lecture. "Son, I want to tell you something important. I know you're a fancy wizard with magical power who can turn water into wine, but I want to remember something." He puffed a little on his cigar, looking thoughtful. Jethro leaned in, as though he and his father were sharing a deep family secret. David continued for a while, creating beautiful imagery of a hard working, noble family, striving for success.

"Never forget your Muggle background," David said in finality. "You may be a wizard, but I'm not. I did all this," he waved his arm vaguely, "without any hocus pocus or magic potions. Don't be afraid to embrace your magic side at this 'Hogwarts' place, but also don't forget your roots. Magic can solve some problems, but it doesn't solve everything. Keep your wits about you son, and you'll do grand things. Now, you can run along and play."

Jethro jumped out of his seat, saying a quick "Bye, Dad." before running up the stairs. David sat back in his seat, puffing on his cigar, looking pensive.

Upstairs, Jethro began reading more about simple spells before calling it a night and going to bed. The words his father said rebounded in his mind, clashing with his mother's descriptions of Hogwarts to create a rollercoaster of a dream. Jethro twisted and turned in his sleep, muttering. His mother had told him of the dark wizard Voldemort and how he had gone to Hogwarts. But she also told him about heroes of the war; she told him of Dumbledore, the Potters, and the Longbottoms, among others. These figures raced around Jethro's dream, clashing with Voldemort as Jethro was shoved in the middle of it all.

He didn't sleep very well.


End file.
